Kate's Punishment
by Le Chien Noir
Summary: Starts at S3X02, with AU twist.  When Kate tries to flee from the soldiers ordered to whip her, Gisborne decides on a more lasting punishment.  Rated M for non-con and the like.  No fluff bunnies here.


_The following is an entry originally published at rh_kink (Robin Hood Anonymous Kink Meme) on Live Journal. The request was for Guy/Kate, with the prompt "In a hurry?"_

_Setting is S3X02. Same beginning. Slightly different outcome. Be ready for some serious naughty, it is a Kink Meme after all!)  
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"Flog her!"

The soldier took Kate roughly by the arms, tugging her toward a post. Gisborne was already mounting his horse, disinterested in her fate. But she would not let them take her brother. Her body eased resistance slightly, and when she felt an answering slackness of force in the loutish guard, she took her only chance, and rammed her elbow into his face. The nose piece of his helmet hit the side of her arm, causing pain, but it was nothing compared to what he must have felt. She dashed toward the forest as the man clutched at his nose, clawing wildly after her. She could almost feel the coolness of the trees, and the blessed safety they promised. But the sound of hooves made her hopes evaporate like dew on the dusty ground. The dark horse came pounding toward her, and she was forced to change course, or be crushed beneath it. The jangle of mail became louder as three soldiers caught up to her, grabbing at her hair, and bruising with each gauntleted grip. Horse and rider circled them all, the twisted smile of Gisborne greeting her as her face was raised forcefully.

The injured soldier took it upon himself to leave a stinging slap across her cheek, then proceeded to tug and tear the shoulder of her dress until the fabric had parted indecently. She was dragged back to the post, but this time, the horseman followed behind, interest piqued. The soldier cut a rope off the nearest fence and looped it around her wrists. He pressed her against the post until her partially exposed breast touched the rough wood, then pulled her arms around to tie them. Free to gloat, without fear of being made a fool by an escaping woman, the soldier wrenched the other side of her dress over her shoulder, baring her back and waist.

Kate heard the snap of the flail as the long thongs were shaken out in preparation of use. She thought of Matthew, and how she needed to be strong. She would get through this for his sake.

The creak of saddle leather told her the rider was dismounting, though she could not see him.

"Wait." The command was a brutal growl. "Cut her loose." There was nothing merciful in Gisborne's tone. Instead of a pardon, she knew she was being condemned to a worse fate.

The soldier did not hesitate. Sneering, he cut the rope quickly. She spat on him, even as a hand locked around the back of her neck. She heard the soldier mutter "Stupid bitch," then felt the sharp point of a knife at her throat. The hand on her neck pushed gently forward, and she complied, putting one foot in front of the other, like one condemned to the gallows. Their destination was a modest structure housing the chandlery.

She had feared only for her brother up to now, but as she was thrust through the doorway of the dwelling, she suddenly felt isolated from the society she cared for. No one would be able to see what happened, and neither would they try to help her. Entering the hut would mean risking life or limb, and the bravest men had already been chained and taken away. All her remaining family and friends could do was listen for her screams to know she was alive. But she would not cry out. Dogs like Gisborne lived on the fears of her people, and she vowed not to let him take her dignity, as well as her body.

The point of the knife broke contact with her throat, but the hand remained. "I asked if you were in a hurry. You chose to lie to me. You will be punished."

If he gave her a chance, she might use his knife against him. But she was afraid now. Afraid what might happen to her family. Without her and her brother, their mother and sister were unprotected. Even if she could kill this bastard, the guard she hurt would be watching for ways to make her suffer. She had seen the look of murderous hate in the soldier's eyes. But Gisborne would not let his men kill without his order. It would be better to let him release his anger on her, and hope that would be an end to it.

Most of the shutters were closed, and the dimly lit space was stifling in the heat. The hand on her neck pulled her close enough that she could smell him; a sharply sweet scent of warm leather and sweat. He kept her facing away from him. He must see her as less than human, a bitch to beat, and little more. Kate had no wish to see him either. He was nothing to her but a black fly that harried and bit remorselessly. As long as she did not see his face, she would be able to forget, in time.

The hands that smoothed over her shoulders were not rough like those of the men she had experienced before. But that was because those men engaged in honest toil, whereas Gisborne did little but laze around the castle, or shout orders from the back of a horse.

He pressed her back tightly against his chest, and the buckles on his tunic dug into her skin. As he leaned down, she felt the scrape of his unshaven jaw against her neck. Then his face was touching hers, separated only by a curtain of sweat-straggled hair. He crossed his arms over her chest, and she was enveloped in his warmth and scent. She tried to remain rigid as his hands entered the remains of her dress, cupping each breast. Her nipples hardened from the exposure, and he ran his thumbs over them briefly.

Each time he moved her, she felt a telltale slickness at the fork of her thighs. Unhappily, she recognized the subtle tingle that buzzed in her groin like a wasp under a pillow. Everything he stood for repulsed her, but her body was not as committed to denying him as her mind was. His hand pressed against the front of her dress, and she felt herself contract involuntarily.

Focusing on the tools hanging on the wall opposite her, she imagined knocking his head in with one of them. It was a weak form of resistance, but it served to keep her head clear, for the moment.

He thrust his arm under her skirts, and his fingers slid between her legs to discover that she was not as chaste, or dry, as she wished. He said nothing as he inspected deeper, but his chuff of laughter was enough to make her flush indignantly. When his hand retreated, she was left to wait while he untied the lacing on his breeches. After a moment, there was a slight catch in his breathing, and she assumed he had accomplished the task.

When he spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. "It appears we can forgo further preparations," he said as a matter of fact, then added more malevolently, "I realize you are in a hurry, after all."

She had a sudden urge to glance around and see what she would be forced to accept, but knew the less she saw, the less there would be to remember.

Holding her with one arm, Gisborne swept a table clear of wax and wicks. He pushed her down till her breasts were almost flattened against the surface. Despite this, he was less brutal than she expected, though that was likely because she was not resisting. She almost wished it was not the case. Her body was already in danger of feeling something akin to pleasure.

Gisborne shifted her further across the table until only the tips of her boots touched the floor. Tossing her skirts over her back, he gripped her buttocks, parting the flesh with his thumbs. The only part of him that he chose to bare rubbed against her entrance, slick with evidence of her arousal. Her breathing quickened, and her nails dug into the wood of the table. He entered slowly—almost patiently—but still she felt a burn that increased the further he pushed. Apparently, he was proportionate to his stature. Kate's eyes squeezed shut, but she refused to let him know he was hurting her. Fully sheathed, he remained still for several heartbeats, then began a slow pattern of retreat and advancement, the pain of which subsided to a bearable ache as she lay unmoving on the table before him.

Outside, she heard the wail of a woman, grieving over her stolen husband, and the cries of children who did not understand why fathers and brothers were missing. Somewhere out there, her mother and sister worried, while Gisborne's soldiers awaited their leader.

Soon his movements became more bold, and his weight pressed heavily into her. Kate tried to focus on other things, like the drops of wax splattered over the table, but it was impossible to ignore the friction of his leather-clad thighs against the back of her legs. Her mind was yoked to her body, and to the rhythm he was establishing.

Pulling out, his hand brushed the beginning of her trough as he repositioned himself, and she squirmed at the contact, teeth clenched tight to avoid releasing any sound. His hands curled around her hips like claws as his pace quickened. The angle of his assault rubbed her tantalizingly against the table, and she struggled not to move her own hand down to attend to that which he neglected.

When he spoke, it was a stark reminder of just who it was behind her, inside of her.

"I realize," he began, words interspersed with husky breaths, "that without the village men...it may take time...to find mates," his hand trailed along her back in the semblance of a caress, "and longer still...to produce whelps." The last disdainful word was punctuated by a cruel thrust. He withdrew entirely, rubbing along her swollen cleft, then pushed in again. She bit her lip, swallowing a moan. Several more times he repeated the cycle, and with each pass, she began to feel herself tightening inside.

"But...as the lord of Locksley," he continued with an effort, "I will not leave you...without provision." Grabbing her hair in a fist, he yanked back her head, preventing any possibility of escape. He need not have bothered. She had already made the choice to withstand his punishment.

Burying himself once again, she heard him panting as his tempo increased. Her world narrowed to nothing but sensation and resentment. He pulled her hair harder, arching her back, while his pounding forced the air from her lungs in small gasps.

Suddenly, his thrusting stilled, and a tremor ran through him. She felt his seed penetrating her, and the very wrongness of what he was doing sent her over the edge. She cried silently, waves of guilty pleasure welling up from her center.

As her convulsions subsided, he slumped over, hot breath pluming onto her damp skin. She wondered if he was prolonging the contact to ensure his claim had been established. He must be mad if he thought she was going to raise his spawn. It was a risk, but she would go to the midwife as soon as she could, and make sure that nothing ever came of this encounter.

Slowly shrinking, yet still embedded, he whispered a warning in her ear, "Do not test me again. You are lucky I had time to deal with you myself. Next time, I'll give you to the Sheriff." He pushed back from the table, leaving her empty. Re-lacing his breeches, he added with a smirk, "I doubt you would enjoy being spitted on _his_ rod."

Picking herself up, she turned to look at him for the first time, a defiant fire re-igniting.

"I'm sure _you_ would know," she said, before she could stop herself.

Kate expected a blow to follow, but instead he ignored her. Without another word, he strode out of the building like a cock leaving the hen-house. Barking orders to his sergeant, he mounted, and led the rest of the guard away from Locksley.

Waiting until the sounds of horses and men had died down, she smoothed her skirts, pulling up the shoulders of her dress. Her hands shook slightly, but she stilled them quickly. She left the dank dwelling, and with it, the shame of her defilement. The sunlight was a cleansing warmth on her face. She was free to find her family now, and for that she was grateful. Gisborne would pay for this, in time. But she could wait. She was in no hurry.

~Fin~


End file.
